


heart lines, soul strings

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Hugs, Lots of kissing, M/M, Season/Series 11, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean have a little falling out and Dean ends up having his soul read. There's a little mishap, and he follows a light home to Sam, where he realizes what the soul reader was trying to tell him: that he and Sam belong together. A tiny little fluff fic about my favorite soulmates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heart lines, soul strings

**Author's Note:**

> This was really spur of the moment. I was possessed by the soulmate god.

Okay, yeah, they had an argument. Sure. Dean thought this place was a fucking hoax- _I mean, a supernatural carnival? With real psychics everywhere, real scryers, and all that shit?_ \- No fucking way. But Sam, as Sam always is, was convinced there was something here. That they should keep searching. They both must’ve gotten up on the wrong side of the bed or something, by the way their conversation quickly brought up old hurts and insults. Dean said he was leaving, that Sam could find a ride with someone else, and Sam had said,  _yeah, I will, with someone who’s less of a stubborn fucking asshole._

But it wasn’t a  _petty_  argument. It wasn’t stupid, obviously. Dean picks his battles, yes he does. He picked this one with careful skill. So he doesn’t exactly get why he has to explain himself to a woman who’s like, eight-hundred years old and hasn’t bought new clothes in just as long. 

Actually, he doesn’t know why he walked into this damned tent (Soul Readings: Twenty-Five Cents) in the first place. It just seemed so… laughable, so ridiculous, and maybe he wanted to prove to Sam this place was as bullshit as anywhere else. Maybe just a little bit. She’d asked some questions, he’d had some pent-up anger, and well. He’d ended up spilling a lot of his moody guts to a stranger. Must be channeling his little brother.

 

 

Which is when she’d said, in a high, creaking voice like a c-list horror movie witch, “you split on such petty, stupid circumstances? You’re a fool, boy.”

Dean huffed, and his hand flew to his chest. “Why don’t you spew this shit to Sam, huh? He’s the one that wouldn’t leave it alone.”

The ancient soul-reader lady folded her claws on the velvet-covered table in front of her. She raised an eyebrow, and waited.

Dean’s cheeks burned. “Shut up.”

Her eyes rolled around in her head and she sighed, gesturing at him with her hands.

Dean eyed her, his brain immediately cataloging exactly where each weapon on his body is located and how quickly he can access it. “Use your words, sister.”

She gestured again. “Your hand,” she told him, “I need it to read your soul.”

Dean paused, watching her with narrowed eyes. She seemed harmless enough, so he let his hand fall on the table top. She picked it up with her fingers, smoothing the pads of her thumbs over his palm as she stared intently at it. They stayed like that while the clock ticked on behind them until Dean began to squirm.

He coughed. “If I had wanted my palm read, I woulda gone to the palm reader, just sayin’.”

“Shut up.”

He tried to smile, succeeding instead in a strained grimace. “Okay.”

Without any warning or change in facial expression, she yanked him forward by the wrist, his ribs slamming into the edge of the table. Her hand found his chest, right above his heart, and she laughed with glee, smiling widely as he stumbled backward and stood up, glaring heatedly down at her.

“Oh, boy, oh boy!” She sang. “My, you don’t know what you’re missing, no you don’t. But I can show you, yes I can.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Dean mumbled under his breath, but before he could turn and leave, the world did a one-eighty and something low in his stomach twitched and shook to life, sending beams of dull pain throughout his body. He doubled over, gasping, blinking owlishly at the carpet underfoot as he tried to get his breath back.

“What, the fuck,” he gasped, “did you fucking do to me? Did you… put something in me?”

“Only common sense,” she bickered, unfolding him with surprisingly strong arms. She looked him in the eye, waggling her finger in his face like a disapproving schoolteacher. “Don’t be so blind.”

Dean opened his mouth to snap back some (probably) witty retort, but he was met with the back wall of the tent, not the woman. The space she’d stunk up was completely empty. He spun in a slow circle, searching for a trace of her. Nothing.

Fighting a queasy feeling, he stepped out of the tent, looking around the carnival with renewed suspicion, and made his way to his car.

It was then he noticed something funny.

Stretching out in front of him, stemming from somewhere between his heart and his belly button, was a white, glowing light, in a line, stringing out in front of him and curving out of sight behind the port-a-potties. Heart racketing in his chest, he waved his hand in its wake, but he couldn’t feel it, and it didn’t go away. An ache was consistently building inside him, and he knew almost instinctually that if he didn’t follow this light, it would only get worse.

Sighing, he stomped forward, the light-string-thing taking him to the parking lot, and out past that. He got in his car, winded, and not from any exercise. Shit, this was bad. He pulled out his phone to call Sam and maybe apologize, and saw he already had a text from him:

_Called a cab. Went home._

Shit. He hovered his thumb over Sam’s contact info, ready to call him, when the breath was punched out of him and all he could see was white. His hands moved of their own volition and found his keys, turned them in the ignition. They moved to the wheel, his foot to the pedal, and he was off, sweating and trembling as he drove the way the light went.

He lost track of time then. And space, too. The world was ache and need and white, hot light, and not in a sexy way, either. He stopped the car for a reason unknown to himself, and stepped out. The pain lessened by almost half, and his eyes were tearing up in relief. He sagged against the Impala’s cold frame, staring up at the orange and yellow painting of leaves in the tree canopy above him.

Grateful for his newly-returned eyesight, he looked around, and started when he noticed the surroundings with his red eyes. 

He was home.

The white light led to the bunker door, and disappeared inside.

Fighting off a billion different suspicions, he meekly followed the rope that was tugging him along. He walked, zombie-slow and lethargic, through the library, down the hall, and to the door of his own room.

Letting out a deep breath, he grabbed the knob and stepped inside, bracing himself for, well… anything.

Sam was sitting on his bed, his brow pinched in a classic Sam look of trouble, his hands knotting and unknotting in his lap. He looked up at Dean as he walked in, his puppydog eyes out in full force. He stood to meet Dean, and Dean felt the ache bleed away completely, the white light that led straight into Sam’s chest fading and disappearing before his eyes.

“Dean, look,” Sam said, his voice raspy with passion, “I was a dick earlier, and I’m sorry. I just want us to be a team, y’know? No more fights.”

Dean hummed. “Come over here.”

Sam frowned. “Dean?”

Dean let himself smile a little. “Just c’mere.”

Sam crept over like a wary dog in search of food. If he had a tail, Dean thought it might be between his legs right now. Sam was in his space then, looking down at the ground, avoiding Dean’s eyes.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam and tugged until they were flush against each other, chest-to-chest, his arms snug around Sam’s waist. He felt something slide into place then, the empty space the ache had left behind filled with  _Sam Sam Sam._

Sam gasped in his arms. He embraced Dean back, laughing quietly. “What– what is this? Do you feel it?”

Dean pulled back only enough to meet Sam’s eyes. “You were right about the carnival,” he said, grinning. “It’s some real shit. Like, for example, how a soul-reader can tell me I’m stupid for fighting with you and that our souls are tied together.”

Before Sam could reply, he brought his hands up to Sam’s cheeks, wanting to cry with joy at the warm, secure feeling each touch brought. He traced the apples of Sam’s cheeks, and leaned in, letting their lips meet in a warm, chaste kiss. Sam kissed him back, opening his mouth slightly to let Dean’s lips in, and they breathed in sync with each other, their hearts beating out the exact same rhythm.

Dean pulled back again, staring at the dimples carved into Sam’s face. His hands curled back around Sam’s waist. “We good?”

Sam nodded slowly, and his eyes were bright and shiny. “Yeah. Yeah, Dean, we really are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments super appreciated <3


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